


Sensory Overload

by redlizzie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 4x01 reaction fic, It just happened, M/M, Young Derek, idk - Freeform, roll with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlizzie/pseuds/redlizzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaction fic to Season 4 premiere of Teen Wolf. It just really happened because young!Derek and Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jujubee18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubee18/gifts).



Stiles cannot believe his eyes as Scott and Braeden exit La Iglesia. They are practically dragging someone out - and it couldn't be anyone but Derek. Because that's who they came to rescue. But it's not Derek. He's too small. He's too young. 

As the figure lifts his head and stares right into his eyes, Stiles feels the familiar warmth start to swell and knows instantly. This is Derek Hale. 

He lets go of Scott and reaches out with his right hand, eyes still locked firmly on Stiles', grasps out to touch. He stumbles forward and Stiles barely catches him and falls to his knees. Derek's breathing is scattered but warm on his neck, his body small and just...so fragile. Stiles wraps his arms around him as a whisper falls from the dry, cracked lips. "Stiles"

They settle in the Jeep. Not entirely pleased with the turn of events, Stiles is in the back seat squashed between Lydia and Derek - who is completely attached to his hip. Lydia keeps smirking at him while Scott is giving him worried looks from the driver's seat through the rearview mirror. Derek is totally oblivious to the surroundings and is simply content to snuggle. Yes, snuggle is really the only word for it.

They drive and drive and drive. Stiles dozes but is acutely aware of the low grade hum in his body. There's something about Derek - knowing that he's tough and rough and rude and somewhat scary and always cold as ice - and let's not forget - sexy as fuck - but that this boy who is curled up against his side with his head half buried in his chest, whose warm breath is contributing to the situation in Stiles' jeans is the same FUCKING person. Seeing Derek small and vulnerable and needing to be held - no WANTING to be held by Stiles should not be as making him as hot and horny as it is. But he can't help it. His brain keeps wandering to that first second of locking eyes and the burning thoughts that he had of having this boy on his knees. 

Back in Beacon Hills, it doesn't get much easier. They have no where to take him. And he won't let go of Stiles. He won't even look at anyone else. Lydia snickers and says, "Looks like you're the babysitter, Stiles". 

"Ha. Ha. Incredibly amusing, Lydia. Look, my ribs can't take any more of your joviality."

"Dude. You've got no choice. You've gotta take him. He can't be on his own. And I can't get in touch with Deaton."

"Yeah, Stiles. You wouldn't leave the poor puppy out on his own. He'd just whine all night anyway."

"Can it, Lydia. And don't quit your day job." He spares a glance at his left shoulder where said puppy is currently resting his head. Those eyes. Looking back up at him. And he whispers again, "Please. Please stay with you."

Scott shrugs and Lydia suppresses a giggle. "Help me get him in the house, Scott," Stiles manages through gritted teeth. 

There's a few awkward moments up the stairs as the two of them try to help Derek up the stairs. His legs don't seem to work well and his clinging to Stiles is simply hindering any upward movement. 

"Derek. Derek. You have to let me go - we can't get you upstairs unless you unwrap yourself from me."

His eyes grow impossibly bigger in his sunken cheeks and his bottom lip starts to quiver. Stiles mutters under his breath, then turns to face Scott. 

"Listen - just take Lydia and Kira home. Text me when you get home yourself. And when you hear from Malia and Braeden, let me know."

"You sure?"

"I've got it, Scott. Besides, Mister Gloom and Doom isn't cooperating. If necessary, I'll pick him up and carry him. If nothing else, it'll piss him off to no end once he's back to his normal self. AND I will never let him live it down, EVER!"

Stiles turns back to face Derek - who is now clutching his t-shirt in both hands like his life depended on it. 

"New t-shirt there, Derek. Brand new."

He releases his fingers just a touch and starts to smooth the fabric.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." and the eyes look up into his again - this time welling up with tears. 

"No. No. Stop with the eyes, Hale. It's alright. Geez, you really are just a big puppy, aren't ya?" He stills the hands that are circling on his chest with one of his own. 

Derek bites his lip and a whimper escapes from deep within. Which should not be a turn-on at all. Except it most definitely is. Derek Hale is going to be the death of him. Or at the very least, the cause of some serious chafing because his jeans are now bordering on seriouslycuttingoffbloodcirculationtohiscock tight and the staircase is looming in front of him. 

"God, Derek. Really? Christ." He runs a hand through his hair and makes a decision. Which he may regret later. But right now, it makes perfect sense.

"Okay, little buddy. Time to get you upstairs." He pulls at Derek's thighs from where he's standing on the second step and leans forward, catching him in an awkward but half-decent fireman hold - bearing the weight on his shoulder. 

"Now, hold on. We're going up."

Hands grab at his waistband. And they are good to go. Please don't let me fall - is the only thing that Stiles can think of as he takes the stairs one step at a time. 

"And don't squirm."


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the continuing story....

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Stiles' breathing was laboured and his legs felt like they were made of jello.

"Okay sunshine, down you get before I drop you."

He felt Derek release his deathgrip from his jeans and then shifted his body weight so that he could lower the boy's legs to the ground. In theory, it was perfect. In reality, well, in Stiles' reality things never quite worked out the way you planned them. Derek slid. Actually slid right down Stiles' body, pressed tight to him. And oh. Hmm. Yeah. Didn't quite think this through now did you, brainiac. Now his tight little body is pressed up right against your....

Just as the thoughts were zipping through his head of how hot and bothered and smooth and hard and ohmygod that feels amazing, Derek's legs gave out. And down they went. Not gracefully. Because Stiles didn't do graceful. They stumbled together and he landed with a grunt right on top of Derek, bright eyes shining up at him. 

"Oh, wow. Sorry there, Derek. Lemme just..."

And then the world tilted because Derek bucked his hips and....sweet holy hell....the stars are in alignment....another boy's cock....Derek's cock, rock hard against his own. Stiles was sure he had forgotten how to breathe. He moved his hands to brace against the floor. But in retrospect, that was possibly the worst (or the best) idea ever because it simply shifted his own weight right there. A load moan echoed through the hallway. He had no idea which one of them had made the noise and really, it didn't matter.

"Fuck...."

Derek grabbed his arms and leaned his face into his chest. "hmm....smell so good Stiles"

"Geez. Wow. Derek. Stop. Need to think." 

He breathed deep through his nose and rocked back on his heels. He shook his head and tried to pull his arms back. Derek held on for dear life. 

"Don't leave me", he pleaded. 

How was this his life? He leaned forward again and cradled Derek's face between his hands. 

"Dude, I'm not going anywhere. You're safe. You're okay. Let's just get out of the hall so my father doesn't trip over us when he gets home from work." 

Moments later after a few rather contortionist-like moves, Stiles had successfully managed to get them both into his bedroom, Derek still clinging desperately to him. He guided him to the bed. 

"Sit." 

He pressed gently on Derek shoulders, and extricated himself from his clutches. 

"It's okay. I'm just gonna get us both a change of clothes. Sweats. Sweats would be good right now." 

He walked to his dresser and pulled open a drawer to find what he was looking for. Mournful. That was the only word to describe the sound that came from behind him. He whipped around and stared. Derek was still sitting on the bed but had grabbed Stiles' pillow and had wrapped himself around it. 

"Derek...."

Tears streaming down his cheeks. Arms clutching impossibly tighter around the pillow. Whimpering and sobbing. Stiles took two big steps to cross the room and knelt down on the floor. He reached out with his arms and pulled the other boy to him.

"Derek....what can I do?"

"it smelled so bad, Stiles. Like death and disease. Like hate and evil. It was awful. But when Scott opened it up, I could smell you. I knew you were there. You smell so sweet. You smell so good..." 

He buried his face in the pillow and took deep, heaving breaths between sobs.

"Bet a shower would do you a world of good." 

The words left his mouth before his brain processed the logistics of the situation. Once his brain caught up, he stuttered.

"but I bet you just need sleep. Nothing like a good night's sleep to chase away the bogey man." 

Wide eyes caught his own. And for the first time since they had found him, a hint of a smile teased at the corners of Derek's mouth. 

"oh, yes please. A shower. Wash away the smell, Stiles. Make it all go away."

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. He had the worst ideas ever. This really was not how he had imagined his first happy, half-naked, sexy shower time with Derek Hale. Not in the slightest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mouth works faster than his brain....and somehow he suggested a shower.

Well, another fine mess you've gotten yourself into. Stupid. Fucking. Idiot. Mouth.

A few moments later found them both in Stiles' bathroom. Derek agreed reluctantly to stand by the sink while Stiles went to turn on the water and adjust the temperature. Thoughts, both welcome and whothehellaskedyou swirled around in his head. This was his life. Somehow. There was no getting around it. And as terrible as this idea was because....Derek. Hale. Naked. In. His. Shower. Step right up ladies and gentlemen, the show's about to start. Watch Stiles and his amazing disappearing act. Except that wasn't going to happen. His dick wasn't going anywhere. And seriously how are these jeans remotely comfortable. He shifted his hips in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. Not working. This wasn't a dream. It was real. It wasn't fun and games. Never is, genius. Remember, werewolves and evil and fighting and supernatural bitches. Fuck. How? What? Can this get any weirder? It was Derek. Young and vulnerable and....fucking hell.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist nearly toppling them both into the shower. Warm breath on the back of his neck. And long, hot body touching every single part of his body. With just a hint of a grind. Stiles moaned, his brain buzzing on overload. Because this was like all his fantasies of Derek come true. The bickering and shoving and blatant sexual tension between the two of them had risen to heights of serious radioactive meltdown levels - at least in Stiles' mind. In each and every one of his private time sessions, he had pictured being shoved and held and nuzzled and kissed by the man currently plastered to his back. A soft growl in his ear and a gentle bite to his neck woke him from his delicious reverie. Because this wasn't Derek. It was. But it wasn't. And this was not the way it needed to happen. Stiles took a deep breath and summoned his courage (or possible stupidity) from deep within his chest. He turned his head and reached around. 

"Derek. No."

Green eyes flickered gold. A whimper escaping from deep within. But the arms loosened around his waist. Stiles wasn't sure if it was the running water he could hear or the pounding of his heart in his ears. It was all too much. Overwhelming. Breathe, Stiles. Breathe.

He turned around as Derek's hands fell to his waist. And wished instantly that he hadn't. He really had to set up a meeting with Deaton to ask him who in the supernatural world he had pissed off bad enough to deserve this kind of torture. Surely there was a cure or a magic powder of some sort. Long lean limbs. Bare, smooth chest. He bit his lip and swore to Mother Moon that he was gonna punch Scott for this. Because his eyes were now fixated on Derek's cock. Hard and flushed such a pretty shade of red. Uncut and leaning slightly to the left. He licked his lips because suddenly his mouth was dry as the desert sun and gasped for breath because air. Air was good. Breathing was good. Derek shifted slightly and sweet holy hell. He watched mesmerized as a bead of pre-cum gathered and the world simply stopped. A rumble from Derek's chest. And Stiles whined. Because he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and just taste. Just one little taste. 

Words. Think. Stop. Fuck. He brought his hand up and laid it on the beatiful bare chest in front of him. Closed his eyes and then forced himself to look up. Sweet. Beatiful eyes. Lust blown. Flickering. Framed by soft dark lashes. Pleading. Begging with want. He stuttered. He stammered. He breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes again. 

"Derek. No." 

A sob mingled with a whimper. He kept his eyes closed because focus. Focusing was good. As bad an idea as this was, because wantmoreplease and touchtastefeel and shovemeagainstthewallandfuckmehard.....focus. FOCUS STILES.

"Jeez. Fuck. It's not that I don't want to. Because I always want to. You're gorgeous and sexy. And I'm only human. But Derek...." and at this he opened his eyes.

"I respect you far too much to take advantage of this crazy messed up situation. This isn't you." 

He steeled himself now. Braced himself against the wall with his other hand and pushed away slightly. Because the reality was that Derek - the real Derek would never want him in this way. And Stiles wasn't going to be anyone's - not even Derek's - romp in the sack because of some weird, voodoo, fountain of youth, stupid, magical, evil bitch induced spell.

Derek dropped his hands and looked down at the floor, chest heaving and shuffled his feet. 

"Cmon, buddy. Let's get you in the shower. Get you clean and rid of that stench, okay?" 

He reached out gently and touched Derek's arm. He looked up at him. His eyes shone with unshed tears but there was a glimmer of understanding. 

"Not angry, Stiles?" he whispered.

Stiles let out a laugh and held open the shower curtain.

"No, sunshine. Not angry. Far from it. Now get in there."


End file.
